Harry Potter and the Holy Grail War
by Chronopie
Summary: A different Servant Caster can change an entire war. Caster!Harry-centric. Rated M for character death (obviously) and mature themes. Minor AU on canon HP.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I have no claim to ownership of either of the Harry Potter or Nasuverse series. HP belongs to JK Rowling, the publishers, movies studios etc. The Nasuverse belongs to Type Moon etc.

A/N: This FF is, obviously, somewhat AU. Though, obviously, expect spoilers. HP Timeline is untouched, FSN's has been shunted to the modern day (201X rather than 200X).

HP will be treated as (mostly) per Canon up until after the summer after the Battle at the DoM, with most of HBP and DH still taking place, with a few minor tweaks, such as Harry having a big ol' trunk'o'moniez, (and several other compartments besides), Harry's blood having been absorbed by Gyffindor's sword, in addition to the basilisk venom (giant snake fang in the arm is not going to be bloodless), and Harry being an Animagus (ever since sixth year), with said ability partially bound by the grail (as the grail is a thaumaturgic binding object, and the creatures in question are classed as 'Demonic' beings in the nasuverse).

This FF is an alternate for the Fifth Grail War. (Fate/Stay Night), and I'll be drawing on elements from the Fate, Unlimited Bladeworks, and Heaven's Feel (just a bit) paths. This is not the canon fifth grail war.

That being said, this is NOT going to follow the path of HF. No Dark Grail!Sakura and corrupted servants.

Harry is taking the place of Medea, and will not be summoning servant assassin for himself. Assassin will be already summoned, and by a different master. I haven't decided whether to use the False!Assassin summoned by Medea or another. (Maybe a True!Assassin [of the Hassan-i-Sabah], maybe a different game's assassin, maybe an OC or char from another game altogether.)

Pairings will be Shirou/Rin/Sakura and Harry/Illyasviel, nothing explicit. Assume Everything as canon unless extrapolated upon otherwise.

* * *

[i]You would be shocked at how little difference there is between most alternate universes.

Now, what you must understand, is that any given universe is the sum of an infinite number of things happening or not happening in combination, and any single change, to any single one of this infinite number of events is it's own alternate dimension, even should every other event occur in exactly the same way. Quite often the differences between universes can be as simple as someone, not even anyone important, choosing to have a ham sandwich instead of a chicken one. And since there are an infinite number of events comprising any given universe, there are therefore an infinite number of alternate universes that vary only infinitesimally.

But likewise, there is an infinite subset of universes with larger variations. Where things that never existed in one world exist in another. Like magecraft. Like magic. Like where crabs developed to become the dominant lifeform. And some of these worlds can be strange indeed.

And there is a smaller, yet still infinite subset where these sometimes happen to intersect. And even these intersections can occur in an infinite number of ways.

And an even smaller, yet equally infinite subset in which events are recorded.

This is one such story.

-An Excerpt from the living memoirs of Zelretch, in the Tohsaka family library. If you found parts of it confusing, that's probably for the best.[/i]

And events were unfolding. Just as they always had, just as they would on an infinite number of other worlds almost exactly like this one, and an equally infinite number a bit more different.

* * *

May 3rd, 2011, a home in Fuyuki City, Japan.

With a obscuring billow of bright green mist, a figure stood. He, for the voice was definitely male, groaned. "No Sword of Gryffindor, so I'm not Saber, haven't got my Cloak on hand, so not Assassin, not that I was all that stealthy really, more a Gryffindors charge ahead kinda person, never been a Lancer, too in control of myself to be 'Zerker, and I never went insane in life, I doubt that I'd count as Archer, even though I work at range. Question is whether I'm here for my days of Thestrals, Hippogryphs and Broomsticks, that dragon doesn't really count, since I was just a passenger, though I'm a bit short on Phantasms... Or Magic..." The figure began to pat himself down. "Holly-Phoenix, repaired too, check. Hawthorn-Unicorn? Huh, Draco's wand. Yew-Phoenix? How did I end up with Riddle's? Ahh, Elder-Thestral. Feels right. Guess I'm here as Caster."

The mist cleared, revealing a black-robed man with unruly raven-hued hair. "You are the Servant Caster?" The voice was snappish. As though it somehow doubted itself. Or maybe what it saw.

The young man - no, the summoned servant - looked up. His piercing green eyes, shimmering with raw power, was it's own answer. "You are the one who summoned me." It wasn't a question. "I, servant Caster, have come forth in response to your summons. What are your orders, Master." The binding words spoken, and on the master's hand, a trio of stylised red-orange markings were etched into the skin. A line, within a circle, within a triangle. "From this time forth, my wand shall be with you and your fate will be with me. - Now, our contact is complete." The dark-haired, green-eyed servent stretched, rotating his joints until they 'popped', then eyed his master up. To be honest, Caster didn't like what he saw. His newest master was a greasy young man, barely sixteen, if Caster was any judge, sallow skinned, with a hooked nose. "Woah. Deja vu. Back when I was... Alive, for lack of a better word, I knew someone that looked a lot like you. Nasty bugger. Brave as hell, in the end, but still a belligerent arsehole. Prove that he was an exception, rather than the standard. I'm assuming you understand the basics of the command spells and how to identify a servant's status?"

The sallow one nodded. "The command spells force the servant to act according to an order. It stops unwanted actions through pain responses and strengthens desired ones."

The servant bobbed his head, ever so slightly. "The more specific an order, the stronger the effect. Three crystallisations of the Grail's own magic that allows the servant to surpass their limits. They work poorly on broad and ill-defined orders. An order to 'win this battle' isn't going to do much. The pain responses or power enhancements are diminished. To contrast, a simple order for a single act, such as 'stop your attack' is absolute, and near impossible for a servant to do otherwise. I have a couple questions of my own. What year is it?"

"2011."

He flicked his hand in a peculiar pattern, waving around a stick, and a date appeared, formed out of smoke. "Thirteen years since I died, plus a week. Ten years after the fourth grail war, which was only three years after I died. I wasn't expecting another grail war to break out for another fifty years though."

"You were in the previous war of the holy grail?"

"I was. My master was a bloody incompetent with very little skill of his own, and got himself killed thanks to Servant Assassin finding him as he went to the pub. I assume you're not going to make that mistake?"

"I- I'm too young to drink."

"Like that ever stopped anyone. It's a shame that I ended up bound to you, young magus. The prana drain incurred on the master as an active servant caster is higher than any barring the master controlling a servant berserker. But you only have a middling amount of magical strength, thus I fear you will lack in power to protect yourself. That, and I will be unable to utilise my greatest Noble Phantasm."

The sallow-skinned master frowned. "And what is your true name, Servant Caster?"

"Harry Potter."

The sallow one frowned again. "I don't recognise the name. Are you a mere low ranked spirit? Your abilities? Noble Phantasm?"

"I'm a wizard of the highest caliber. Once I reached my magical maturity, with it's full magical core expansion, and the bindings on it severed, only one living - being - had the power to match me. As for my Phantasms, of which I only seem to have one third of a set, one of the two physical object phantasms that should have been summoned with me, probably on account of your insufficient power, there are three. The first is a blade, with which I slew a King of Serpents in life, as well as shattering some objects of darkest magic. The second is a trio of items, crafted by none other than Death itself. A wand of immense power, useless to your magics of course, optimal for mine, but crafted with some of the magics of Death's own steeds. A stone that allows for the ressurection of souls, or bodies without them. And a cloak that renders the wearer invisible and undetectable." He frowned, briefly thinking of the times that had proved to be less than accurate, "As for the third, it's an inherent magic, which the Grail itself has seen fit to bind to the Servant bond, which means I'd be forced to draw upon your prana rather than just my own."

"And what is this mysterious inherent magic?"

"A self-transformation, in which I take the form of an immense, magically powerful beast, while retaining my own magics and intellegence. But it matters not, since I can't use it anyway."

* * *

Within her mansion, a young silver-haired, crimson-eyed homunculus, Illyasviel von Einzbern, or simply 'Ilya' to her friends, had just heard notification of the successful summoning of one of the seven servants of the holy grail, this time a barking-screech of a snowy owl, oddly crossed with the trill of a songbird. Her own servant, the first summoned, was a fourteen foot tall, muscle bound, bronzed mass of raw hatred. The Demigod Heracles. Servant Berserker. The servant with the noble phantasm God Hand. Gifted with twelve lives, to match the twelve tasks he completed in life.

Why the bark of a snowy owl? It was all to do with the used catalyst. Her own Berserker was summoned using the very same slab of rock he now carried as a blade, origially culled from a temple to Heracles himself. The blue lancer had been summoned with aid of the very same jewel he'd been entombed with on his death. As for the songbird, Ilya didn't even know which species it was, so it could take years, decades even, just to find the relevant infomation.

Five of the seven servants of the Holy Grail had now been summoned. The fifth war of the holy grail would begin within the week.

* * *

Sometimes, it's the smallest things that can divert the course of any alternate universe. Some changes can be anything but small, yet still change very little of the greater scheme of things.

Some changes can divert the path of a universe so radically that it becomes almost unrecognisable from it's 'peers'.

The question is truly to work out just which changes make the big differences.


	2. Chapter 1

Standard disclaimer; I own nothing HP or Nasuverse.

A/N: In canon, Archer was summoned at 2 *am*. For the purposes of this fic, I'm changing it to 2 *pm*. The only reason Canon ever gives for a 2 *am* summoning is the 'peak' of Rin's magical energy, and so that Rin forgets to change her clock to account for daylight savings. Even in Canon, it's not a school day, so nothing significant is modified.

I've included Harry's stat sheet at the end of the chapter. It might be a tad overpowered... Obviously the Elder Wand, it's history stained in bloodshed, is going to increase his spell's power, while the Cloak of True Invisibility is supposed to conceal it's wearer from even Death, so it's not going to be easy to spot him under it. The Resurrection Stone is only dangerous for the sheer number of bone golems that can be summoned.

As for the Sword - Basilisk Venom has a grand total of One cure in the HP-verse.

For Harry's Strength, Endurance and Agility stats, and Instinct personal skill - Harry Hunting in his youth taught him how to take a hit that would down a lesser person, and how to evade them, and he was a natural seeker - from which I also pulled his Riding personal skill - and, of course, magic makes a wizard more resilient than a non-magical person (Wizards bounce).

-

May 8th, 2011.

Servant Caster stalked the land, tracing the ley line that ran below. A powerful node, a natural point to tap into the power of the ley line, converged under the temple upon the hill, yet a great barrier, designed to weaken servants approaching from any point other than the gated entry, stood in his way. So Harry stalked the land, searching for a lesser node. A man in a blue bodysuit, bearing a two meter long, red spear, sat at ease on the bench ahead. Caster gave a casual nod, his very stance indicating that he'd known, conclusively, that the blue servant, for he undoubtedly was Servant Lancer, had been awaiting.

"Cú Chulainn... Ahh, the Irish demigod. The Hound of Ulster, right? He who bears the cursed spear 'Gáe Bolg', rumoured to always pierce the heart." Servant Lancer seemed surprised at the young Servant Caster's knowledge. "Your legend is older than mine, and I grew up learning about an eclectic mix of English, Irish, and Scotish legends. Some of the books my cousin never read. So yes, I know who you are, and what your Noble Phantasm does. Highly Agile, resistant to minor spellwork, but given my class, nothing of mine is minor. Middling strength, endurance, and prana capacity, poor luck, but you have a surprising resilience to normally mortal blows. About right?"

Lancer nodded. "I don't know your name, nor your Phantasm, but given you know mine, I doubt that I'd be able to force it out of you. You too appear to be highly agile, with excellent reflexes and senses both, built for speed over strength. alright endurance, but, like me, surprising tenacity. As expected of a caster, phenomenal prana reserves, but... You can't use your Natural Phantasm?"

"Not if I wish to remain in this world. Unless I draw on an external source of prana. My master is a little lacking."

"On the other hand, your luck is as bad as mine. You were Fate's chewtoy, weren't you?"

Harry growled. "Thrown into the deep end of the shithole. Came out standing too. Fuck dark wizards, sixty foot long, hypervenomous serpents that kill with a glance, and soul-eating demons."

Lancer laughed, yet he was inwardly impressed. Caster had, in life, come out on top against a Basilisk? "Little real magical resistance to speak of, but, being a caster, you no doubt have counters for that." Caster!Harry nodded. "Not fearless... but courageous. I dare say you function well under pressure. Fairly charismatic, probably either a leader or the symbol for a resistance. At the same time, you're a free soul, you don't accept the guidance of another. Instinctive talent for discerning dangerous situations and figuring out how to make best use of the situation. And you smell of a large lizard. Some kind of shape-shifter?"

"You're rather perceptive Lancer. My shapeshifting talent is limited to one form, and it's the very same Phantasm I cannot utilise effectively."

"So your Phantasm is such that you assume the shape of... a phantasmal beast, I presume, and the amount of magic for you to do so is more than your Master can bear?"

"In life unbound, I could do so solely from my own magics, but the bindings of the grail... That being said, I can function independently of a master for a day or so, so killing him isn't going to get rid of me. Longer if I become the monster I loathe and start killing innocents. Of course, if I did that, I could transform too, if I didn't mind fading after achieving my goal."

Lancer nodded. "Understandable. Taking lives, though despicable, would give a far greater boost than anything shy of a top tier mage. For a caster, your class skill in Territory Creation seems almost nil. On the other hand, your Item Creation appears to be high. At a guess, you're capable of creating or conjuring items, but you don't use a workshop to do it."

Harry nodded "I assume you were sent here to test my skill?" Harry stretched. "Or has our talk given you the information you needed?"

Cú Chulainn's grin grew teeth.

-

It wasn't night, but Harry too was itching for a fight. However, by being Caster, he had extra talents to call upon. Utilising his low-ranked Territory Creation class skill, and spells learned from Hermione during their year on the run, he quickly erected a set of notice-me-not and other muggle repelling wards as he flexed his magical muscles.

Cú Chulainn simply watched, gathering information on Caster's skillset. Caster was using basic psudeo-Latin words and short gestures to enact his mysteries. It reminded him eerily of his former teacher and one-time lover Scathach, whom displayed the same casual self-assurance and obvious ease, unlike the complicated ritual Kotomine had had to use to bind Lancer's will and command seals to himself rather than his original master Bazett. Some of those gestures looked a lot like the 18 original runes he himself could use. If he was right, that meant that the mysteries Caster was enacting so ably were at least C rank, more likely B, and so it would only be prudent to dodge anything caster threw, rather than assume his C ranked magic resistance would shrug it off.

This would be an interesting fight, Caster mused. Cú Chulainn was an Irish hero, a demi-god if the legends were correct, exceptionally quick even among the swift, capable of fighting on even beyond normal mortal limits, even tying himself to a standing stone so as to die on his feet. He just hoped that Lancer didn't have access to his most feared ability, the Ríastrad, loosely translated as Warp Spasm, a fearsome berserker-like rage. The descriptions in the version of the Irish Lancer's legend that Harry was familiar with made it out to be a monstrous thing, twisting and distorting his very flesh into a gruesome parody of itself.

-

They stood across from one another, neither moving, both watching the other intently. To even blink would be a mistake. A single cherry blossom fluttered between them, twisting on the wind. Quicker than the beat of a sparrow's wings, a yellow jet of light flew towards the blue-clad spearman, and was just as rapidly deflected into the air. A red streak as the Lancer's spear was thrust forward with great force, only to slide off a silvery shield spell.

A maelstrom of colour erupted, half a dozen at a time, only for each to be met and countered by the wickedly barbed spearhead.

Cú Chulainn grinned as he sketched a burning rune in the air: Sowilo, looking much like a lightning bolt, or the scar that adorned Caster's own head, standing for the Sun, invoking power, victory, and most importantly; Elemental flame.

Harry quickly formed a similar shape with all four wands circling his wrists and both hands. Sixfold torrents of flame burst from his hands to meet - and match - that erupting from Lancer's rune.

Even as Caster fought fire with fire, Lancer used a glowing thumb to trace three runes on his own form: Uruz, for strength, speed, and untamed potential, Eihwaz, for strength, endurance, and protection, and Kenaz, for harnessed power, technical ability, and revelation.

As the fires quelled, Harry saw this and countered with one rune: Laguz reversed, burnt into the air with the same spell that Riddle's shade had used back when Harry was just twelve, in the Chamber of Secrets. By invoking the reversed Laguz against Lancer, he hoped to force Lancer into confusion, poor judgement, worse decisions, and despair. Unfortunately, Lancer's Kenaz Rune flared brightly, and both runes burnt out.

Knowing that Lancer's speed exceeded his own, Harry immediately re-engaged him in the hopes of staving off more direct runecraft. However, with the reinforcement of the Uruz Rune, Lancer's speed had gone from excessive to ridiculous. Harry countered by conjuring and animating several golems.

Cú Chulainn struck the closest of these Golems on the left side of it's chest, corresponding to the heart in a human, only for his spear to catch in the tar-like substance. Knocked out of his rhythm, he was hit by one of Caster's spells, a Turquoise colour, and he felt himself slow noticeably. He heard Caster bellow out 'Impedimenta' as he was hit by several more. With a flare of Prana, the Uruz Rune on his armour ignited and burnt out, taking the effects of the impediment jinxes with it. Well aware that a repeat of the spell would end the fight, and not in his favour, Cú Chulainn made sure to bat the next few spell well wide.

Harry froze as a dark feeling permeated the air. Lancer had crouched beneath his last few spells, and was holding his spear with the tip pointed towards the ground. Death. Death. Harry knew that Lancer's next move could very well be fatal. The dark feeling - that of Harry's impending mortality - the very assurance of Death, grew as Lancer gathered Prana. It wasn't a lot of Prana, less than what Harry had been throwing around with every spell, but it felt so much bloodier. If Lancer thrust his spear, Harry knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that his heart would be pierced. No, his heart would be pierced, so the spear must have been thrust. His very breath caught in his throat as he prepared to apparate. It was the only possibility he could think of with even the slimmest chance of escape. Lancer's eyes flickered. He rose from his crouch.

"Tch. My master has decided that he's seen enough. I look forward to killing you though." He leapt away.

-

As Harry felt the Hound's magical signature fade with distance, he laughed in relief. If Lancer had gone through with that final attack... "At least he doesn't know about my ability to apparate. Now the reason I'm actually here..."

At a crossroad of a lesser convergence, a node point of power tapping into the ley line tat ran below the city, Harry snapped both hands outward and upward, the Holly-Phoenix and Yew-Phoenix wands floating, rotating around his right wrist, the Elder-Thestral and Hawthorn-Unicorn around his left. Six points of light, one at the end of each wand, one in the palm of each hand, slowly dimmed, drawing the light from the very world around. A negative light, if you will. As the light faded, an after-image of four items, to match the lit wands, appeared. An ethereal, silvery cloak. A black stone with several scratches upon it's surface. A card deck-sized trunk. Lastly, but by no means least, a blade made of living silver, flecked with the crimson of blood, and bearing a deep crimson Ruby, the size of an egg, glowing with an inner fire, the silver of the blade etched with the name of 'Gryffindor'. It was impregnated with the venom of a Basilisk, blood of the same Basilisk, and the blood of Harry himself, among other things.

Even as the dimensional rift began to close, the black light receding, the bark of an owl sounded, causing Harry to maintain the rift for another moment. A snowy owl, initially black in the anti-light, crossed from the immaterial plane to land upon his shoulder.

"Hello Hedwig. I've missed you."

-

As Harry continued to re-familiarise himself with Fuyuki city, having only had a week or so during the previous grail war before his summoner had been slain and he faded, he picked up an unusual and immense magical signature in a park. Sweeping his invisibility cloak around himself, he apparated to the top of the nearby wall with the trademark earsplitting *crack*.

She had long silver hair and red eyes. Only a little more than four feet tall, she was kicking her heels as she sat on the swing. "Who's there? I know that noise. I haven't heard it in months, but I know that noise."

"Homunculus." Harry hissed. "An Einzbern homunculus." He narrowed his eyes. "And a master. Surely it's not safe for you to be out without your servant, even if the war hasn't officially started."

The homunculus snorted. "Berserker's sleeping. He had to beat off Lancer last night, and Lancer did something funny with his lance and hit Berserker in the heart. Berserker won't let him do that again."

Harry removed his cloak. Right in front of her. "The only reasons I haven't shish-kabobed you right now," with the Sword of Gryffindor strapped across his back, it was a very real threat, "are that, firstly, the war hasn't officially started, and I prefer to play fair, and secondly, I'd like a couple answers. The first is whether Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, was given the Einzbern family's homunculus spells freely, or if he took them by force."

The homunculus snarled. "The coward had a pair of lackeys mind-control my grandfather for them. If you were in life who I think you were, and not many people are associated with a sword, an invisibility cloak, a snowy owl, and Voldemort, thanks for removing that stain upon our reputation."

Harry nodded. "I am. As for the second, idle curiosity on my part. Why are you practising Circuit based thaumaturgy rather than Western magic?"

She shrugged. "It's just how I was created and raised. Sure, every movement Berserker makes pains me, but that's because his nature fights the command spell. He gives me the best chance to win."

"I empathise with the pain. I'm sure the stories about me gloss over the abysmal upbringing I had with magic-hating muggles, or all the bones of an arm regrown overnight. Or just how much basilisk venom hurts when it enters the bloodstream, as every cell in your body burns, and that a fragment of fang lodged in the bone left my blood toxic. Not enough to kill me, but enough to constantly burn. Or the pain of having that bastard of a dark wizard leeching my magic for the better part of sixteen years. You get used to pain." He sighed. "As for pain, try having every bone in your body twist and crack as your magic forcibly reshapes them. As your spine lengthens and even grows additional bones. As spikes grow through the skin of a tail that itself grew from your spine. Horns from your head. As wings push their way through the flesh on your back."

She nodded. "The command spell burns into my nerves with every move he makes, even as he merely breaths. They scream with his every twitch. It's shortening my lifespan with every day that passes."

Harry grimaced. "Having a chip of basilisk fang in my arm isn't doing my health any favours either."

"Isn't?"

"I may be bound to the grail, but, and keep this a secret, I never died."

She gasped. "How?"

"As I took what was supposed to be my last breath, at the hands of my enemies, I made a deal with the conceptualisation of the Grail. Heroic spirits are bound to the grail when they make a deal with it, giving themselves health, or power, or prestige, becoming a hero, in exchange for their souls. I was a hero in my own right, and the deal I made was simple. To destroy, utterly and for all time, the one who called himself Voldemort, and to remove me from that place. I was surrounded by his death eaters, so I would've died if I stayed. Instead of dumping me elsewhere, I ended up, still technically alive, yet in a form of stasis, on the otherside of the veil. Magic itself recognises me as alive. I cannot take spirit form like other servants, because I never left the flesh." He grinned. "If I happen to get a chance at the grail, this war, I mean to wish myself back this side of the veil, back to 'life'. What is the wish of the Einzbern family?"

"The Einzbern family has no wish. As a homunculus, and vessel of the grail, my life is forfeit to give it birth." She looked into Harry's eyes for the first time.

As her red eyes looked into his green, he merely smiled. "Sorry doll, I'm immune to mental suggestion. Nice try though, with the natural mystic eyes. Mine lets me, for lack of a better word, read minds." He winked. "I will say that you certainly don't look eighteen. And don't worry, I won't give away your secrets to your adoptive brother either."

She gasped, as memories flicked across her mind's eye, catching only stray glimpses as the Caster, whom she suspected was Harry Potter, skim through her thoughts, her dreams, her hopes and fears. Her desires, likely to never be fulfilled. Her history, from her earliest coherent thoughts to this modern day. The constant isolation, the loneliness as the rest of the von Einzbern family jockeyed for position, yet ignored her entirely. Her place was known, her role set, and though harming her was off limits, she was being groomed for a specific death anyway, so there was no purpose in befriending her. It took only moments before she ejected him forcefully, but it felt like she'd lived her lifetime all over again. "Find what you want?"

Her tone was abrasive, and understandably so. He had just rifled through her memories after all. Not quite mind reading, but given context and feeling the associated emotions attached to said memories allowed for the next best thing.

"Actually yes. I get the sense that, even with him as your constant companion for the last couple months, you're not actually all that enamoured with Hercules."

She sniffed daintily. "He's a brute. Even in the minutes before the mad enhancement descended upon him, he was surly and blood-thirsty. If it weren't for the fact that he's my chance to win this Grail war, I'd have cut him off and let him fade."

"Since I've learnt so much about you, would you care for some equivalent exchange?"

"To learn something about you? Sure." She tensed when his wands materialised, but calmed down once he began drawing silver threads of thought from his head, placing them into a carved bowl of darkest Obsidian. "So I just touch them? It's not going to trap me or anything, is it?"

"I'd make an oath on my magic that it will do you no harm, but I'm not sure if emotional turmoil would count as a breach. They don't make for happy viewing." He'd given her some of the choicer tidbits of his life to examine after all, right from his formative years, full of abuse and neglect, to Fluffy and the trial of the Philosopher's Stone, to the Chamber of Secrets and it's serpentine guardian, to the Dementors and his Godfather, the highlight reel of the Triwizard (and one witch) Tournament, the running battle in the Ministry, his reading of Sirius' will, Moody's Occulumency training (so much better than Snape's), his animagus training (though not his actual form, not yet), the inferi-filled cavern, and the year spent on the run, culminating in his deal with the Grail's manifestation.

After her unhappy viewing, her first action, much to his surprise, was to hug him. "The rumours and stories don't do your life justice at all."

He patted her back awkwardly. "It's fine. What I showed you was the highlights and lowlights. Most of my time at Hogwarts was... well, it wasn't all pleasant..." He hesitated, remembering the isolation after the Norbert incident first year, the hostility over the rumours of his being the Heir of Slytherin, the bitterness of the Dementor-induced pall over the school, the vilification over his name coming from the Goblet, the rumour-mongering and slander from the newspaper, the torture of the blood quill, and the general air of hostility and suspicion during the sixth year. "But I had more good times than bad. And I wouldn't change it for anything. I couldn't have learnt exactly what was necessary to succeed if I'd not faced the possibility, or even the inevitability, of failure. It wasn't until I faced defeat that I understood what I needed to become in order to achieve victory." He snorted. "If you can call this victory. But what I'm saying is that those experiences, though unpleasant, shaped just who I am, and I wouldn't be me without them."

A keening wail, and a taste of ozone, like discharged lightning, shook the both of them apart, though the non-grail war participants in the street didn't notice. "That'd be Number six, right Illyasviel?" Harry asked.

"Number six." Illyasviel von Einzbern confirmed. "And we've shared our respective histories, so I think you've earned the right to call me Ilya."

With a *crack*, he was gone. *Crack* "And by the way, nice castle." *Crack*.

-

And some events can cause a ten-going-on-eighteen year old chaotic little white-haired girl to decide that she really didn't care all that much about the 'glory' of the Einzbern family. Not when there were far more interesting individuals to play with.

==

Servant Profile: [WARNING: SPOILERS!]

Caster:

True Name: Harry James Potter  
Master:  
Alignment: Neutral Good

Parameters:  
Strength: E+ (A+)  
Agility: C+ (C-)  
Endurance: D+ (A++)  
prana: A+  
Luck: E

Class Skills:  
Territory Creation - D: The skill to build a special terrain that is advantageous to oneself as a magus. Creation of a "Temple" becomes possible - Caster has no skill in creating magical teritory, but can construct temporary wards/bounded fields to conceal his presence.

Item Construction - A: the skill to manufacture magical items - Caster is able to conjure arcane implements and weapons through his Magic. As a being of considerable skill and great power, Caster has a high rank in this skill.

Personal Skills:

Independent Action - C: Capable of remaining in this world for a day without an established contract. Also capable of living on for a short period of time after suffering extensive damage on his spiritual core.

Eye of the Mind (Fake) - C: A protective sixth sense gained from Caster's mastery of Magic, allowing him to detect danger and even killing intent. At this rank this skill acts as an intuition, warning caster of hostile actions being taken towards him.

Charisma - D: People find themselves more motivated by Caster's words, and trust him more easily.

Riding - C: At this rank this skill enables Caster to ride all manufactured objects and creatures of monstrous rank. In life, he had ridden such diverse things as a demonic horse, a broomstick, and a motorbike. He is as at home in the air as on the ground.

Mystic Eye (Legilimency - Fake) D: This skill allows Caster to read the mind of anyone that makes eye contact, that has not been trained in the counterpart defensive art, Occulumency, to an equal rank. Can be negated by Mental Pollution or Mad Enhancement, as Caster cannot understand the target's mindset or frame of reference.

Western Magic (Wizardry) - D-EX: This form of magic utilises internally produced Prana, rather than Od, and allows for magic to be manifested without lengthy arias or rituals, without reducing their efficiency and power. - Note: Fiendfyre cannot be extinguished through non-supernatural means, and absorbs weaker forms of magic to further fuel itself, earning it the EX ranking.

Noble Phantasms:

Silver Sword - The Sword of Godric Gryffindor  
Rank: C (A - Organic Targets only)  
Type: Anti-Unit

A blade crafted by Goblin Smiths, the sword imbibes all that makes it stronger. This particular blade has been strengthened by the Venom of Phantasmal-rank Basilisk, envenoming any wound inflicted by the blade on organic targets, destroying their bodies from the inside out. What's more, this blade absorbs any magic cast on or against this blade, further empowering itself.

The Deathly Hallows - Artifacts of Death Itself  
Rank: D-EX  
Type: Anti-Unit/Anti-Army/Support

The Deathly Hallows are a collection of three artifacts - A wand that increases the power of the user's spells by one full rank, A stone allowing the summoning of undead spirits or bone golems, as simplistic D ranked familiars, and a Cloak of Presence Concealment (EX ranked).

Animagus Transformation - Might of the Dragon  
Rank: (C-A+)  
Type: Anti-Army/Anti-Fortress

Caster has the ability to partially or fully assume the form of a Phantasmal-rank Demonic Beast - A Dragon, while retaining the ability to utilise magic effectively. This ability allows Caster to fly, and to produce flames hot enough to melt any non-phantasm substance. Due to the immense prana consumption of the full transformation, this ability is only rarely invoked. In this form, Strength and Endurance are dramatically increased, while Agility is decreased due to sheer size. Magical Resistance is also increased in this form [Rank A magical resistance], and Caster gains substantial resistance to bladed weapons on account of his hardened scales.

However, this ability also results in a weakness to Dragon-slaying Noble Phantasms, and Heroes whose legends are based around such feats gain a full rank to all stats while facing Caster in Battle, even when Caster is not transformed.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer; I own none of the rights to the Harry Potter nor the Nasuverse/Type-Moon Series'.

A/N: I'm well aware that Harry's stats are far above a normal Caster class servant's, while using his Animagus form - But it is his Noble Phantasm, after all. Other than that, all I did was tweak the default template, mostly a few pluses, but a major hit to luck.

As for his Mystic Eyes of Legilimency, Dumbledore has much the same thing, at least in Fanon, so it's not far beyond possibility, particularly given that this is a not-quite-canon Harry.

I'm aware that in UBW, Lancer uses an Ansuz rune to set the Einzbern mansion alight, but it's the norse rune Sowilo that's supposed to invoke flame, Ansuz evokes insight, truth and wisdom. And yes, Lancer technically won their fight. He was lined up for a killshot after all.

As for why Ilya trusted Harry, Harry has the charisma stat. As for why Harry trusted Ilya, she's the grail, and it plays on his subconcious. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

-x-

Walking around Shinto, Harry felt eyes upon him, though they wouldn't see him, wrapped in his cloak as he was. It wasn't quite a match for an Assassin's presence concealment, but it was EX nonetheless - a value that cannot be quantified under the normal system, because it is in a league of its own. For a start, the Cloak's presence concealment was linked to the object, rather than to Harry directly, and could be shared with another person, such as his master as a result. Not that he was going to do that.

Caster's master was a snivelling coward of a boy, with lank, greasy, black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. His eyes were as black as heis hair, and reminded Harry of dark tunnels, and uneven yellow teeth. To be honest, he looked a lot like a mini-Snape. Only, the kid was about 16, so either Snape had imbibed some shrinking solution (a lot of it), or, if they were, in fact, related, then the kid would've been born during Harry's fourth year. More likely a cousin than a kid...

Though, since why-ever would Snape have been in Japan?

He was also a coward of the highest degree, hiding- sorry 'residing' within his home in the Miyama City district, and had sent Harry out to scout for the other masters and their summoned servants, while his Familiar, which resembled nothing so much as a bat, fluttered overhead.

Mounting his broom, though he could just as easily have grown wings, Harry flew to the top of the nearest building. On a rooftop none to far away, stood a white-haired man and a dark-haired girl, both clad in red. The man was no man, but a servant. It was his eyes Caster had felt, enhanced with magic as they were. He seemed oddly disquietened by Harry's returned gaze, as he scanned the skyline carefully. Only two men had ever been able to spy him through this cloak, and both with items enchanted by one of the wands he now bore. No man or servant should be capable of piercing it's ethereal properties in this day and age. No technology or magic created by any (other) wand or crest could pierce it's veil.

Excepting Hedwig for some strange reason, but she was inexorably linked to his magic anyway. That and she, like he, had been hit by a killing curse and (in essence) survived.

Yes, familiars, like the magi they're bonded to, share many of their properties. As Harry was capable of surviving that curse, so too was Hedwig (Though she'd been disincorporated). As he was master of the Hallows, bearing the cloak, stone, and wand, she too was linked to the hallows, and they worked against her no better than they did him. Harry wasn't sure if she too could transform, or what form she may take, but they shared base emotions, limited amounts of magic (he could swear she knew how to apparate), and, if he focused, shared senses, much like a magus' artificial familiar.

And that's exactly what Harry invoked. Hedwig, high above the city, had the proverbial, and literal, bird's eye view of the city. Her raptor's vision let him pick out individual details, not only at rooftop level, but at street level too.

In short order, the red-clad pair left their rooftop. As Harry continued to stalk through Shinto, looking for signs of other servants and masters, Hedwig shadowed the oblivious duo.

In the end, the only indicator was the earliest signs of the formation of a barrier around the school. Harry carefully erased part of a few crucial runes. Ideally his tampering wouldn't be detected until the barrier failed to activate.

-x-

Later that same night, Harry caught a glimpse of a tall, pale-skinned woman, in a short, black dress, edged with purple, and vibrant purple hair that touched the ground. The curious thing though, was the purple blindfold she was wearing, and the symbol on her forehead - it didn't resemble any rune that Harry could recall.

Oh, she was a servant, that much was obvious, but from the distance Harry was at, he couldn't tell which class she was.

And she was clinging to the wall of the building... No, she was standing on it. Even her hair was falling towards the building, rather than the ground. Clearly she had some kind of personal gravity manipulation. Likely not Berserker then, but it did increase the odds of her being of the assassin class, despite her provocative - and memorable - attire.

-x-

Harry slept the day away, conserving his energy. No point wasting prana after all. His master was a stingy one, and obviously feeling the drain. For all that he looked like a minature Snape, he was far less intimidating, and a lot less capable of the biting wit and dark, snarky humour of his predecessor.

Though he did favour green and black for his wardrobe a little too much, Harry hadn't been able to acertain whether the resemblance was anything more than a coincidence. Nothing in the house had a name on it, his master had no driver's license or other ID, and the command spells themselves prevented Harry from reading his mind with Legilimency. Which was a good as admitting that he'd tried.

Hell, he'd tried reading the minds of the neighbours too, to no avail. They were all muggles, so were much easier to read, it's just that they didn't have anything he could use. Well, besides the fact that his Master's mother had been a European descent, but that wasn't much in itself either. Particularly as she hadn't resembled anyone at Hogwarts, and there were no indicators that she was even a witch. Though Snape could've slept with a muggle.

Of course, Snape had died with the rest of the Death Eaters, so there wasn't any way to actually go to the source, even if Harry could've apparated that far. Then again, the Grail-implanted information basically confirmed that he was confined to the area around Fuyuki anyway. No inter-continental apparition for Harry. Such a shame too, he would've liked to check up on Ron and Hermione, on Luna, Neville, Ginny, and his old friends in general.

-x-

The next night though, he was again up and active. Starting at the school, Harry was surprised to see the same red duo, the girl investigating the same runes Harry had messed with, the servant in etherial form. Being a servant himself, Harry could feel his presence. And that of Cú Chulainn. The latter of whom suddenly took a swing at the girl. True, the seventh hadn't been summoned, but Lancer was simply taking the presented opportunity.

If Harry weren't wearing his cloak, he was sure that they would have known he was on hand too, that there were in fact three servants on the school grounds, not just two.

But would eliminating one of the six before the seventh was even summoned screw up the grail ritual? What had his premature termination in the fourth done anyway?

But no, she'd jumped from the rooftop, channelling prana to slow her fall. Even as she directed it through her legs, boosting her speed to a point beyond normal human comprehension (not that Harry was), Lancer was yet faster.

As Cú Chulainn struck again for her heart, her Servant took form, deflecting the blow with a shortsword. Lancer backed up to a point five meters away. Of course, with the speed he moved, and his two-meter long weapon, it wasn't much of a distance. "Saber, I presume... Or..." His stare suddenly intensified. If looks could kill, he'd be glaring Avada Kedavras. Not that they'd harm the servant in red. The killing curse worked by seperating the body and spirit, and Heroic spirits didn't exactly have a body in the first place.

The pair suddenly began to fight, exchanging blows faster than the human eye could track, Lancer even faster than when he'd fought Harry. Harry was suddenly glad that the Grail enhanced his body beyond normal human limits.

Red was pushed on the defensive, his shortsword only suited to parrying the spear. At the rate Lancer was attacking, Saber, if the red servant was, couldn't close to an effective range. A vacuum of steel. Harry wasn't sure why the female magus wasn't adding spellfire to the mix, but he figured that the particular forms of thaumaturgy she favoured might not have the neccessary Precision. Either that, or it was a wide area offensive of some description. She didn't look like a support mage.

A loud crash, and the sweep of Lancer's lance sent Red's shortsword flying. It was inevitable. A Lance wins against a sword, particularly a shortsword, almost every time. A longer reach, a greater force behind it. As long as the lance wielder can stick to his preferred range, he maintains an almost unassailable advantage. "Idiot." Lancer stated. Three strikes followed, almost faster than even Harry's seeker-trained and grail-enhanced sight could track. Strikes for the head, the throat, and the heart. Each fatal in their own right.

But each flash of red was met with a shining blade. The defending servant was again armed. A Chinese hatchet-like sword. Only, he now bore not one, but two. One dark, the other pale.

"Heh, a bowman trying to be a swordsman." Lancer declared. Harry blinked. The servant with the shortswords was Archer? Well Lancer was closer to the action, so Harry doubted he were wrong.

As though trying to finish Archer off, Lancer's strikes increased in pace. Archer matched every strike. The sparking clashes increased their deadly rhythm without pause or respite. Every strike seemed to shatter one of the mirror image blades, yet every instant, Archer had one in each hand. Slowly, Lancer was forced back.

Cú Chulainn leapt back. Both servants were moving with speed well beyond any mere mortal.

"Twenty-seven. I've disarmed you that many times, and yet you alway have another blade." Lancer was confused. So was Harry. A servant's weapon, his (or her) Noble Phantasm, is supposed to be their signature, imbued with the same magical energies as the heroes themselves, part of their legend and irreplacible. One, two, maybe a handful of items. Three of Harry's wands were but tools, breakable and recreatable, recrystalizable from his legend, but his cloak, the stone, and the elder wand, collectively the Deathly Hallows, and the sword upon his back, qualified. Should they be destroyed, Harry wouldn't be able to simply create another. Twenty-nine identical swords, each capable of matching Lancer's lance, was an anomaly. Even though Lancer had yet to unveil the true power of Gáe Bolg, it was still a Noble Phantasm, and should have rent through any weapon that wasn't a Phantasm itself.

Noble Phantasms were weapons of legend, capable of killing Gods and Dragons (or in Harry's case, a Basilisk), crafted by the Gods, or the Fae, or Death himself. Those weapons are not disposable, never simply discarded. Thus those blades aren't Archer's Phantasm. In theory, his Phantasm should be a bow.

Lancer was understandably pissed. In his own words, his master had tasked him to discover each servant's capabilities. For Archer to fight Lancer as a swordsman tells the latter nothing about his skill with a bow.

A brief interchange. Lancer declaring his frustrations, Archer casually dismissing him. Then Lancer's stance lowers, as does his spearhead. An aura of intimidation. The same premonition... no, promise of Death. "You shall face my finishing blow."

"I won't stop you. You're an enemy I'll have to defeat sooner or later."

A chill spreads through the school courtyard. The only sounds to be heard are the breathing of the two servants facing off.

Gáe Bolg. The demonic lance, reputed to always pierce the heart. It's only a matter of moments until Cú Chulainn unleashes it's potential.

Archer's death was only averted because another party was witness. The sound of hasty footsteps diverted Lancer's attention. All three servants present, along with the magus in red, noted the school uniform.

"A student? Someone was still here?"

"It seems so. he did save our lives though." Archer's brush with death was dismissed cavallerly. Though only because Lancer had taken off after the witness.

"Follow him Archer! I'll catch up as soon as I can!"

-x-

A school hallway. Archer standing over a body. Harry, still cloaked, watching through a window. Miss Red puffing as she finally catches up.

"Follow him Archer. Lancer will be returning to his master. This won't be worthwhile unless we at least discover who his master is."

The victim was still breathing, though every breath was weaker than the one before. Red finally looks him in the face, and gasps as though she'd been slapped. If Harry had to guess, he'd say she had more than a passing acquaintance with him.

Though it's naught but folly, she tries to heal him. The strike of Lancer's, as the boy shouldn't have been capable of defending himself from the cursed spear, will have pierced the heart. That he'd held on as long as he had was a minor miracle in itself. Nothing short of a phoenix... Or not.

Miss Red drained the prana from an artefact, a pendant, dropped it on his chest, and departed. Why, Harry could not ascertain. By the very rules of magic use, the statute of secrecy, one of the few things every facet of the magical societies worldwide had agreed upon, he couldn't be allowed to remember. Drawing one of his wands, his Hawthorn-Unicorn one as it transpired, Harry cast a simple 'Obliviate'.

Harry too left the scene, wondering if he could track down either Lancer or Archer. Behind him, the pendant gleamed as it absorbed and negated his spell.

-x-

Hedwig had tracked Archer to a Western style house within Fuyuki city's limits. Even as Harry apparated to a nearby rooftop, Miss Red rushed out and down the hill.

Following on silent feet, making superhuman jumps between rooftops, Harry tracked her to an Eastern style house, wherein Harry could sense the same magic as earlier. Lancer was within. Was this the house of Lancer's master?

No. Lancer's aura prickled with malevolence. At a guess, this was the witness' house. Lancer would be aware he'd survived, but not that he'd had his memory wiped.

"I'll just have to jump in and beat him. I'll worry about what comes next when it happens..." Ms Red was about to order Archer in, when a white light, akin to a fallen star, flared from the property. A peal, like the tone of a pure bell rang out. A wave of magic far greater than Lancer's own swamped the place.

The summoning of the seventh and Final servant.

Lancer vaulted the wall, looking like all the demons of hell were snapping upon his heels. Archer and Red were stunned. Following Lancer's departure, the other Servant, a golden-haired woman, with bright green eyes akin to Harry's own, clad in blue and silver armour, vaulted the wall too. As she dropped like one of the furies, Archer intercepts a strike aimed for his master in Red. With his body. As the second servant strikes to decapitate Archer, Red cries out. "Archer, Disappear!" The command spells on her right hand flare, before one of the three fades to grey. Clearly such an act, in such a timespan, was beyond normal capabilities. Oddly, it was the second burnt. For her to have used two command spells before the grail war could even really begin?

The second servant, whom since Lancer had inspected everyone else, and initially misread Archer, would make this one Saber, didn't falter. She simply followed through her strike, pursuing Red. Red whipped out a jewel, a Topaz, and unleashed a hurricane of force.

Saber wasn't even phased, her innate magical resistance rendering it less than useless. Harry doubted anything shy of his most powerful attacks would even scratch her. A real mage-killer.

Red stumbles back, falling on her arse. As she looked into the sky, Harry removed his cloak.

"That magic was splendid, magus." Saber spoke quietly, with a voice like a clear bell, but with a tone of voice that imply that she was used to a position of authority, to instant obedience. "But this is your end, Master of Archer."

Her sword was unseen, the air itself distorted around it's shape. Red closed her eyes, her face serene. To fall to Saber was no disgrace.

-x-

A/N: The description of Harry's master, the "greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin." is lifted directly from HP, as is the yellow, uneven teeth and the dark tunnels for eyes. Not a very pretty picture, for an equally unpleasant man.

Snape is also described as being vindictive and creepy. Which is why I don't get the number of fanfictions that lionise Snape.

I also personally think that he was little better than an obsessed Stalker re: Lily, but ymmv.


End file.
